Playing House
by Gabi-hime
Summary: Spiral: Suiri no Kizuna Ayuhiyo It was just for convenience, nothing more. It's easier to cook for two than for one. Dost thou hear the crackle of confederate money? Narumi Ayumu & Yuizaki Hiyono
1. The Sleep of Reason

Playing House

  


By Gabi-hime (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


A/N: While we're waiting for me to clear enough of a space in my work queue for His Girl Friday, I thought I'd offer this as something of a consolation prize. It's short and hopefully at least a little sweet. Ayuhiyo, which I will continue to write until I've completely exhausted myself at it, although I am determined to cram Kouryou into His Girl Friday somewhere X3.

  


Spoilers: The end of Spiral TV

---

  


It had started as an arrangement of convenience. When Yuizaki Hiyono's mother had been called to the family home in the country on business that required her to stay some months, Hiyono had been determined to hear nothing about leaving her home in the city. There was school to think of, even if it was the winter break at the moment, and Hiyono was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and their apartment. It meant that her mother wouldn't have to shut the house up completely, not with Hiyono staying to take care of it. In the end, her mother had succumbed to her wheedling and left the house keys and a credit card in Hiyono's responsible care.

  


Of course, her mother had not been gone for even half an hour when Hiyono locked up the house and presented herself part and parcel on Narumi Ayumu's doorstep. He was almost entirely the real reason Hiyono was determined not to stir a step outside of Tokyo. With Narumi Madoka departed to parts unknown and the two of them still deeply embroiled in the matter of the Blade Children, Hiyono felt that it was unwise to leave Narumi on his own, especially given his bouts of depression. There was also no way he could really do without her help, even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

  


And anyway, if he was going to be busy getting himself into trouble during the holidays, then she was going to be right there behind him, prepared to get him out of trouble. 

  


So it had gone for the first few days, Hiyono showing up for every meal until it became obviously inconvenient for her to go home in between them. Narumi had been short enough with his reasonings why.

  


"I can't let you go home late every night. Some hunter might get it into his head to kidnap you and while that might give me a little peace, I've grown so used to your constant noise that I'm sure that I would be distracted by the silence. And then rescuing you would waste time. You may as well just stay here. It's easier to cook for two."

  


Of course, it was always easier to cook for two, and she knew well that that was his mantra when it came to the two of them. With Madoka gone, he had a hole in his life to fill up, an interruption of his normal routine. Narumi Ayumu was clearly lonely, although he admitted nothing of the kind to her. 

  


Still, no matter what he was fond of admitting (or not admitting) she got delicious home cooked food every morning, noon, and evening, as well as a full dose of his particularly abrupt brand of conversation. It was heaven in two and a half rooms.

  


Or a reasonable facsimile at least.

  


And that had been how it started – evenings spent playing boardgames which Hiyono invariably won. Narumi had been a bit cross about it at first.

  


"It's certainly not the brain that drives this game, or elegance. That's clear because _you_ can win. You play 'hairdos' on a triple word score and suddenly I'm not even in the running any more. Hairdos. Nng."

  


But he kept playing with her. It was something to fill up the hours with, that and poker, which he invariably won.

  


"It's too easy to read you. It doesn't matter what I have, I can always bluff you down."

  


And he could, because his expression almost never changed. He was always deadpan and impassive. She had once whispered to Rio that she was sure that he and Eyes practiced their looks in the mirror so they could better confront each other in public. Rio had voted that Eyes would win in a stoic contest and Hiyono had had to agree. Narumi simply didn't wear enough black.

  


So it was card games and Camembert and fois-gras and that had all been well and good. It was nice being around Narumi, and she found that he slowly relaxed even more in her company. They divvied up the chores, and went shopping together. Narumi even occasionally consulted her on what they were going to have for dinner, and once a week they both went to the apartment that she had shared with her mother and made sure that everything was sound, and every week they ended up coming home with one more little thing from Hiyono's room. Narumi had stopped complaining about it, and with Hiyono and her stuffed animals to fill the impersonal space that Madoka had left, there was that much left to remind him that he was now on his own.

  


Once a week Hiyono's mother called from the country, and once a week Hiyono was delighted to hear that they family affairs were much more complicated than she had first expected. Once a week Hiyono pointedly fibbed to her mother about how things were in the city and in the end, everyone was happy.

  


Or at least, so it had been when it had first started. More recently, Narumi had been absent often and had not explained where he was going or what business he had out. He had been quite firm with her that she was not to follow him when he went out alone and she respected his wishes if only because he seemed to need her to. Something was bothering him, but he was going to have to go about it in his own way. She would help him when he was ready to talk about it. Narumi was not a horse who could be forced to drink.

  


So she sat in his (their) empty living room and postulated wild theories as to where he was going when he went out while she watched the shopping network and wrote down the numbers of items that she thought he might like for Christmas.

  


Perhaps he had discovered the whereabouts of Kiyotaka and left Hiyono safely at home to keep her out of danger! She immediately discarded that idea because she was quite sure that Narumi was incapable of finding Kiyotaka without her resources and support. Onto theory number two!

  


Maybe he had found Madoka and declared his passions for her and they were even now having a clandestine rendezvous! This was also immediately dismissed. She was also of the opinion that no one else on the planet had enough patience to put up with Narumi as a romantic partner. Even Kiyotaka had to be more pleasant than his younger brother.

  


Maybe he and Eyes were off practicing piano duets and stoic glares with each other!

  


Maybe Kousuke had tied him to a chair in order to keep him still while he offered fashion tips!

  


Maybe he was out shopping for her Christmas present!

  


Well . . . now that she reflected seriously, probably not. He always came home from his excursions cross and tired and not inclined to talk overly much. She had few clues so to where he was going other than it cursed her to often find notes from him that directed her to the instant curry in the cabinets. Well, she had to assume that they were notes to her, since she was the only other person in the house. He had never actually addressed one of these notes to her, and she had once wondered if he knew how to write her name.

  


And the instant curry wasn't that bad. It was certainly a step down from the cuisine he had up until so recently busied himself with preparing. What she missed was watching him cook, knowing that he made everything with his own hands, knowing that to some small degree, he did it for her. It's easier to cook for two people.

  


The room had gone dark as she'd sat there, little pink book open on her lap and pen tucked behind her ear. The only light came from the small flickering television set and one single lighted candle that stood near the irises. They had fresh irises every three days. Hiyono had offered to take the responsibility of procuring fresh irises upon herself, since he seemed to have so little spare time but on this one duty he was adamant. He would see to the irises. They were too personal.   
  
In the early days she had entertained fantasies of him bringing home a dozen roses for her at the same time he brought the irises, but after a time she had tired of this. It wasn't really Narumi anyway. The day he brought her roses was the day she checked him into the hospital for a psychiatric exam.

  


He was under a lot of stress these days, what with his secret trips and all. Hiyono crossed the room and turned off the television. She'd promised Narumi that she wouldn't follow him when he went out, and she'd been true to her word, but he hadn't said anything about not snooping around his room while he was gone. It was only because she was so worried about him, of course.

  


Yuizaki Hiyono was not the kind of girl who rummaged through other people's bathroom cabinets . . .

  


There were three kinds of toothpaste in there. One for Madoka, one for Narumi, and who knows who the other tube might belong to, unless it was two years old and had once been Kiyotaka's. Well, she supposed that was one way to remember him. She used Madoka's because Narumi's smelled far too much like cinnamon. He said nothing.

  


And this was not out of the ordinary.

  


Habits of rummaging around in bathroom cabinets aside, Hiyono had never actually invaded Narumi's bedroom. It was his sanctuary, where he went when he wanted to be alone. To trespass upon this territory was to go through his underwear drawer unbidden. She had decided to only do it if it was necessary.

  


She was lonely and the house was empty.

  


Yes, necessary.

  


His room was cool and dark, shrouded by a comfortable silence -- not a threatening one. Here, in this room, it was almost as if he lingered, still and quiet. She didn't turn on his bedside light, content to navigate by the moonlight coming through the window. It made the room seem even more his, all shaded in blues as it was. No matter how much he might admire the iris, Narumi Ayumu's color was a deep Prussian blue.

  


The room was narrow, bare space for a few low bookshelves and a dresser. There was no clutter. Everything was quite precisely put away, even the dust covered keyboard that was stored between the chest of drawers and the wall. She didn't even know that he had a keyboard, but that made sense. He had no room for a grand piano, and even if he persisted that he did not play, she knew he kept in practice.

  


There were irises here too; three in a fluted glass sat alone and unguarded on top of his dresser. Sometimes she almost hated them, almost hated the shadow that Narumi always thought he was chasing -- his brother that he could not surpass, forever doomed to watch the receding tweed suited back disappear further and further into the mists. That was bull, and she knew it. Narumi was the best at everything he tried, he just refused to see it.

She sighed and sat down on his futon. There were no scraps of paper about, no possible hints as to where he might have gone, no clues at all. The game was not afoot.

  


She kicked off her slippers and curled her legs up underneath her. She hoped he would be home soon. He was gone so often these days – she almost didn't get to see him. There were no more games of poker that he always won, and she was left alone constantly with only the company of the ghost of his sister-in-law and the three crisp purple flowers.

  


She gathered his pillow against her chest. It smelled of him, smelled of whatever he used to shampoo his hair (which was an off-brand drugstore variety, she knew). She was tired and it was only eight o'clock. She had learned from experience not to expect Narumi home until after eleven. She was tired and she wanted him to come home. Maybe when he came home, she could cook him dinner. It was easier to cook for two. She'd like that, even if she knew he'd complain about her cooking.

  


She leaned back against his futon and counted the stars out his window.

  


Maybe curry.

  


He liked curry.

  


*

  


The house was dark when he got home. Hiyono had probably already gone to bed, stuffed on bad instant curry. The candle she usually left burning on the table had gutted out. Silently, he dropped his bag on the ground and went to change out the flowers. The four day old irises in the vase he left on the counter to dry out. He'd dispose of them in the morning.

  


Right now he was tired and he smelled. He needed a shower.

  


Hiyono was clearly asleep in Madoka's room, so he stripped off his shirt and left it on the chair. Ordinarily he would have neatly creased and folded it and left it with the other laundry, but he was not in the best of moods. The laundry could also wait until the morning. 

  


In fact, if he wasn't sure the smell would keep him awake, then he would put the shower off until the morning as well, but the smell of onions and smoked meat and his own stench was too much for him, so he spent several minutes in the shower, trying to scrub the smell off of himself. It was a good thing that Hiyono was already asleep. Even she might actually figure out where he'd been going if she smelled him tonight. There were some things that Yuizaki Hiyono had no business worrying about, and this was one of them.

  


After some time, he manage to get most of the stink off. He toweled his hair dry and put on a spare robe. He left his slacks and other sundries scattered around the bathroom floor. Perhaps Hiyono would have the foresight to tidy them up in the morning.

  


Perhaps, and perhaps not. He was always the first one up, after all, and he had expressed distaste in the way she folded clothes countless times in the past. She would probably leave them there for him to clean up himself rather than face his criticism. She had tried to learn how to fold them the way he did, but she always ended up reverting to her old ways when she wasn't paying attention. He wanted his things his way, and although she tried, it just wasn't the same. He knew the clothes would still be there when he got up in the morning, and perhaps that was for the best.

  


He left the lights in the house off. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to stay awake long enough to fix anything. He would eat in the morning. He was determined to put off everything he could until the morning. He even debated the need for pajamas, but comfort won out and he changed standing in the door way to his room, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness after the cool florescent light in the bathroom.

  


Just as he was finishing the top button on his shirt, he turned to regard his blessed futon and he noticed something decidedly strange about it.

  


There was the slim curve of a moon-colored hip on his futon, and this hip was attached to an equally moon-colored girl who had her arms tight around his pillow. She was still wearing the clothes he'd seen her in earlier, although her skirt had ridden up quite a way to give him such a choice view of her bottom.

  


He said the only thing he could think of to say, which seemed a very good thing to say at the time.

  


"Well, I'll be damned."

  


She did not stir at this comment, confirming his suspicions that she was in fact asleep and not merely playing coy and shamming. 

  


This was a problem. Well, he supposed he could always go sleep on the couch . . .

  


No. He'd been dreaming of this futon for hours. He was going to sleep in his bed. He grabbed her shoulder and shook her until she showed some semblance of being awake. She seemed confused for a moment and then her eyes widened and she began to blush in a way that made it very clear to him that she knew exactly where she was.

  


"Scoot over," he ordered tersely.

  


She opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to second guess herself. She scooted as she was ordered, pressing her back almost against the raised edge of the mattress. He did not offer any other commentary, but simply crawled onto his bed. It was his bed and his room, after all. If anyone had any explaining to do, it was a certain honey-haired reporter. But that was going to wait until the morning.

  


They were all arms and legs, angles against gentle curves. Two people were not meant to sleep on this futon, fortunately, he had solved enough logic problems in his life to be able to deal with this one.

  


"Come here, we're not going to fit any other way."

  


"Narumi-san --"

  


"Do you want me to fall off the bed?" he asked darkly, and his temper was evident in his voice. 

  
She complied again and sidled close to him and he took this opportunity to seize her around the waist and pull her quite tight against him, so he could scoot a little further onto the futon and have a bare inch or so of clearance on his other side. She gasped, but did not squirm, likely aware that such a move would send them both sprawling into the floor. He pulled the one single sheet over them and then turned his attentions back to her.

  


"Now sing."

  


"Narumi-san, I can -- "

  


He did not want her excuses. It was too late for excuses and it would take longer to get out of this situation than it was worth. He was tired, but he knew that she needed something to keep her mouth busy with, or he'd have no peace for hours.

  


"Sing."

  


"Mado no Soto kira kira kirari . . ." her voice was first wavery and unsure, but he closed his eyes and her voice became steadier as she sang softly into his wet hair, "Nagareboshi ga Hitotsu Nagareta." 

He grunted and she took this as a sound of contentment and continued to sing until she heard him gently snore. His arms were still tight around her waist and she was pressed surely against him that she was sure that she had little chance of disentangling herself without waking him up, and he was clearly in no mood to be pestered. She was stuck pressed between him and the back of the futon until he decided to let her go. 

She sighed and let one hand go up to rest in his damp hair. This was certainly not how she'd envisioned her first night with Narumi, but as she settled against him she knew that this was somehow better than a fleeting fancy, because Narumi was flesh and bone and clearly Narumi. In the end, if he'd arrived to seduce her, all sweet nothings and caresses, then she'd have just as surely dragged him off to the hospital as if he'd brought her roses. She petted his head absently, wondering how it had come to this, wondering where he had been and wondering if he was as happy to hold her as she was to be held. You had to guess a lot with Narumi, since he was rarely open with his feelings. Maybe --

  


"Hiyono, go to sleep."

  


"You're awake?"

  


"It's hard not to be awake when someone is fiddling with your hair."

  


"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -- "

  


"Just hush and go to sleep."

  


He was warm and firm, a comfortable sort of resistance against her. His smell was even nice, soap and shampoo and the very barest hint of . . .

  


"Narumi-san, you smell like onions."

  


"Fine, and you smell like," here he leaned in even closer and breathed in deeply near her ear, "orchids, and sleeping in my bed for all day, as far as I know. Shall we compare notes further, or do you think you might actually be still and go to sleep?"

  


"Narumi-san, where have you been going every afternoon?"

  


"If I tell you, will you actually go to sleep?"

  


She looked at him for a moment, as if weighing her options and then snuggled against him. Narumi had never been snuggled before. He found that he liked it, and had he not been so utterly exhausted from the previous day's trials, he might have responded a bit more aggressively than he did.

  


"Don't think you aren't going to answer for this in the morning."

  


"Narumi-san!"

  


"Nng. Now, if I tell you, will you be still?"

  


After a moment, she nodded into his hair.

  


"I got a part time job as a short order cook at the cafe down the street."

  


"But Narumi-san, why?"

  


He let go of her momentarily, but only long enough to shift one hand to her face where he firmly covered her mouth. Her breath came moist and warm against his hand and once again he debated his options. No. Morning. Everything was going to wait until morning.

  


"Because fois-gras costs money. Now be still before I cover your mouth with something other than my hand."

  


Her reply was muffled, but he managed to make it out.

  


"Don't tempt me. I meant the pillow."

  


She made very soulful eyes at him, so he uncovered her mouth after extracting a promise from her that she would not speak another word until after six in the morning. He found peace in sleep again, and this time she did not play with his hair, or if she did he slept too deeply to care. He dreamed of wandering endless fields of grass alone, and woke finally to find her attempting to squirm delicately out of his arms.

  


"Where are you going?" he asked shortly, grip still firm enough around her to make her progress difficult.

  


"To make breakfast?" she asked more than declared. 

  


He shook his head.

  


"I'm not going to make breakfast?"

  


He shook his head again.

  


"But why?"

  


"Because," he said, pulling her quite firmly back down onto the futon, "Procrastination is a bad habit that I should not indulge."

  
*

  


  


  



	2. In the Still of the Morning

Playing House

  


By Gabi-hime (pinkfluffynet@yahoo.com)

  


A/N: Magically this turns from being a one shot into a chapterfic because of delinquent prodding of my significant other. Sometimes I get an offer that I can't refuse. This is the result.

  


Spoilers: End of Spiral TV.

  


---

  


She didn't move, didn't fight him, didn't do anything but stare up at him with wide brown eyes -- her breathing slow and deep, his palm hard against her shoulder, pressing her into the futon, all his weight on that one point, keeping her down, holding her tight against him – she didn't tremble, didn't make a sound. She was soft and silent and pliable as green wood under him, bent gently to his command.

  


If there was one thing he could say for Yuizaki Hiyono it was that she followed unspoken orders admirably.

  


It was all there, in one tight and rough moment that he had not intended, that he had not planned. One of her pigtails had come half undone and it spilled recklessly over her shoulder and onto the pillow. She did not tremble, but he did -- like a drunken surgeon or a fox in a bear trap – once, twice in all before mastering himself. He thumbed the curve of her jaw with his free hand before cupping her chin. She was under his hands and she did not resist and he knew that she would not resist. Everything he knew about her, every word she'd ever spoken, every thing she'd ever done screamed in mind that she would not resist. Not him, even as compromised as she was.

  


It had been standing between them open and raw for some time, and they had largely been ignoring it. She was _his_ shadow. She was _his_ Watson. She was _his_ prop and _his_ anchor.

  


She 

  


was

  


_his_.

  


And he could take anything from her, force the comfort out of her, bruised and bloody, and she would not complain because it might ease _his_ pain. In a way, maybe she'd even be happy about it, because that was at least something that had fallen between them. Actions speak louder than words, but only to the mute and deaf.

  


Perhaps he was both.

  


He touched her hair, glossy in the morning sun, and suddenly he hated himself for knowing that he could drag anything out of her, for wanting to drag it out of her, spilling all her secrets carelessly on the floor where he'd step on them later from sheer negligence. He had no right to her, had given nothing to her, had promised nothing to her.

  


He rolled off of her in a moment and was away at the window rubbing his temples. He couldn't do it. He would not do it. He could not rip her apart and leave her to stitch herself back together out of his line of vision just because it suited him. She deserved more than that, deserved better than him.

  


He heard the springs shift in the futon and knew that she had moved, heard the floorboards creak and knew that she was out of the bed, out of _his_ bed. She laid one hand between his shoulder blades and curled against his back the way she was fond of doing when they were cramped into tight or dangerous situations. Her touch was simple and familiar, something she'd done a thousand times before and it reminded him how fond he was of her presence at his back, how used to it he was. It was an intimacy that she expected and that he had never fought, like apron strings wound tight around his fingers, or perhaps, tight around her fingers.

  


"Why?" when he spoke his voice sounded flat and uninterested. He had intended to be relaxed and familiar, not sound like a tinny robot spitting out prerecorded spliced together thoughts. He was out of practice with all tones outside of stoic.

  


"Because," her voice was steady and warm, the way it always was when she was talking him through a difficult area. If she ever stopped being the voluble shadow to the world's only private consulting high school detective, then he was going to suggest that she become a social worker or a telephone operator on a crisis hotline.

  


"That's not a real answer."

  


If she ever left him then he'd have to go out and get a real shrink, one that he actually had to pay in something other than insults and free meals. His budget would be broken once and forever.

  


"That wasn't a real question, Narumi-san," she laid her head against his shoulder rather unexpectedly, "Why did you leave?"

  


He snorted derisively, "You actually thought I was interested in doing that with you? You're more delusional than I thought, idiot girl. You're not mature enough or thin enough for me. You've been eating too much at every meal. You're getting fat."

  


_I couldn't tear you open without thought like that, even if I wanted it, even if you wanted it. I can't give you what you deserve – understanding and commitment. I won't give it. I have too much to do, too many commitments already. There's no place for this one. It hurts too much. I won't tangle you up in me and then leave because the game calls me to a different place. I am not my older brother. You will stay you and I will stay me and we will stay like this._

  


The barrage from usagi and kuma that he expected from the comment on her weight did not come and he was so unnerved that she had not reacted the way that he had intended that he looked over his shoulder to see how she had reacted, even if this did earn him a kuma in the face.

  


Her eyes were soft, her expression gentle. There was no anger or mock violence there, only a kind of sadness.

  


"You don't have to be afraid, Narumi-san."

  


He stared at her hard, expressionless, and then turned to look back out the window. It was late. Too late for breakfast. Too late for everything. The words wouldn't come, and though he hated himself for not being able to say it, for being to cowardly to say it, he was glad of it too. It gave him somewhere to hide, it left his hand his own, not forced.

  


"That part doesn't matter, Narumi-san," she persisted, explaining gently, almost as if she were reading this thoughts.

  


Did this girl have any brains at all in her head?  
  
"Do you _want_ me to hurt you?" he asked abruptly and finally an emotion rang clearly through his voice. He was angry. Would she spare him no quarter?

  


"Don't you know why it doesn't matter, Narumi-san? No matter what you say to me, it can't change my heart. If you tell me that you hate me, I'll still be standing here because that won't change my heart. I want you to be happy, Narumi-san. I want you to look at something else other than Kiyotaka-san's back, if only for a little while."

  


The silence standing between them rang wild and empty and he leaned forward, his forehead against the warm glass. Everything was so empty – the house, his belly, and his life. Was this all he lived for, chasing the shadow of his older brother? Chasing a ghost and living in the bones of another of the dearly departed? He had built himself an air castle with nothing inside of it. He was nothing, had nothing. The Blade Children at least had each other, he had . . .

  


"I don't know why you stay with me. It doesn't make any sense. You don't make any sense."

  


Suddenly her hand found his, hanging carelessly as it was from his arm like a forgotten bit of decoration. Her fingers laced through his unresisting, listless fingers and she squeezed his hand.

  


"I'm Narumi-san's family. It doesn't matter what happens, I'll always be here."

  


And in that soft, simple statement, another ran devastating through his ears, syncing perfectly.

  


"I'll always be here, Ayumu, even if you lose, you can always come home."

  


He jerked his fingers out of her hand and grabbed her wrist hard, twisting her arm back and forcing her against the bookcase, one arm trapped above her head where he held it fast as he leaned in, breathing hard.

  


"I don't want a family. They've all left. They've all gone. The only one whose ever stayed is you."

  


She blinked once and he could read the tears at the corners of her eyes. Still, she smiled.

  


"Narumi-san, it doesn't matter what happens. I'll always be here. I'll always love you."

  


So simple, so easy, how could it be so easy for her, when he had to choke it out? Was it all so easy because she believed that everything would turn out? Was it the happiness of the believer? No, she had said so herself. It wasn't that she believed that everything would turn out for the best in the end, it was that she didn't care how it turned out at all, didn't care if she was hurt now or in the future because the consequences didn't matter. 

  


"Don't you dare ever say you want to be my family again," and the words came out bruised and thick, "I don't want you as my family."

  


She trembled underneath him, trembled like a bird and closed her eyes, accepting what she knew was next – the abrupt dismissal and careless reproach. He cupped her chin again and forced her to look at him.

  


He was . . . crying?

  


"You're more important than family."

  


He closed the spaced between them as if it had never existed, and she fell open like a book before him, and his hand was at her collar, pushing it wide so he could see the cream round of her shoulder. It almost wasn't a kiss, almost a bite, some pent up ball of frustration that left them both panting even as he rolled the ball of her bare shoulder under his palm.

  


"Even if I never said anything else, it would be enough?" he asked, mouth at her throat, breathing in her scent. Orchids. She still smelled of orchids.

  


"Narumi-san, you've already told me everything," she laughed gently and he was driven to kiss her again, to pull her away from the bookshelf and fully into his arms. The sun was warm on his back, warm, hot, it was too late for breakfast, too late for the morning, but not too late for this.

  


*

  


"Narumi-san left his clothes everywhere."

  


She pulled her bare knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she perched on top of the barstool watching him make breakfast. It was really too late for breakfast, but a day just wasn't a day unless it had miso soup in it somewhere.

  


"Nng. I was tired." 

  


He had to have been. She couldn't have imagined anything would lead them to the situation they'd had this morning other than sheer exhaustion and possible hallucinations. He was not one for either heartfelt shoujo manga style confessions or scintillating adult encounters. In fact, when he'd found her asleep in his bed (purely accidentally, of course) she'd have imagined the way he'd deal with the situation is to scoop her up and then deposit her without comment on the floor. It was his bed, after all. She was the one who'd have to do the explaining.

  


And yet, perhaps there didn't need to be any explaining now. He was cooking in his robe and pajama pants. She was wearing her pajama shirt and precious little else. It was the perfect morning after, midday after, as if it had all been arranged. It almost made her giddy to think about it. It was just the sort of scene of domestic bliss that was supposed to follow such an encounter.

  


"Except I'm the one who's supposed to be making breakfast. In a frilly apron. While you look on adoringly."

  


"We don't have a frilly apron, besides, I don't want you to get oil on my pajamas. You're a disaster in the kitchen. If you want to cook, then you'll be doing it in just the frilly apron. Which we don't have."

  


She blushed, "Narumi-san really is more ecchi than I thought."

  


He looked at her sideways over the range and she blushed even more furiously. Well, he was! He had been needy, but almost practiced, as if he knew exactly what he wanted. From his exterior she would have pegged him a physical misanthrope, but from the way he held her, from the things he told her . . .

  


"You're the one who's sitting at the breakfast table and thinking perverted thoughts."

  


Her eyes widened and her blush deepened and she resolutely crossed her legs, "Narumi-san! I am not!"

"You are too. Hiyono it's obvious. You keep squirming while staring at the toaster in a very distracted way. I don't think you're pining for toast."

  


"I am not pining!"

  


"Nng."

  


"I'm not!"

  


He made no further comment, simply dished up the soup to her.

  


"You're terrible, Narumi-san!" she declared, directing her full attention to the soup.

  


He raised an eyebrow, "Maybe I am, but you didn't seem to mind it."

  


"Narumi-san!"

  


"Oi, Hiyono, why don't we restrict your howling my name to more traditional hours or the neighbors are going to think something is up."

"Narumi-san, your guardian has disappeared and a high school aged girl moved in with you. I think they probably already think something is up."

  


"Should we move to your house then? You keep tabs on your mother, but I have no idea where Madoka-onee-san is. It'd be embarrassing if she finally came home to find the two of us indisposed."

  


Hiyono's head swam. She'd never considered these complications. What if her mother came home unannounced to find her daughter asleep in her bed with some strange boy? Oh, she couldn't be so delinquent, she'd be sent away to boarding school! But if Madoka-onee-san came home then it'd be even worse, because she was already something of a wreck and if she came home to find the two of them in intimate conversation then she might get the wrong idea . . . or the right idea, which wouldn't be much better. Or the neighbors, the two of them could be turned in to some higher authority, she was sure of it, and . . .

  


"Don't worry about it, Hiyono. I'll change the locks."

  


The brakes slammed so fast on her train of thought that she almost bit off her tongue.

  


"Narumi-san!"

  


"I'm joking, Hiyono."  
  
Well, how was she supposed to know? He made the same face all the time, whether passionate or despairing. The same brown eyes, the same non-committal mouth, the same curve of his jaw, he could be a statue for as much as his face gave away his tells.

  


"Narumi-san, why didn't you just kick me out of your room?" the question was abrupt, but if it upset him, he did not show it.

  


"Why didn't you leave?" and he'd turned the question back over on her.

  


"Because I wanted to be close to you. You seem so distant, brooding over something you can't help, I wanted to be there for you, even if you just kept pushing me away. Narumi-san is my special person. I couldn't run from him when he'd finally come home."

  


"If I asked you to do anything, anything in the world, would you do it?"

  


"Well, probably, as long as it wasn't anything illegal or – yes."

  


"Then I want you to promise, if I ever make a mistake, if I ever leave you behind somewhere, that you'll chase me down. I don't want to run from you any more. No matter what I might say when other people are around, I want you to know that. I want you to understand."

  


"Narumi-san, is it really cheaper to cook for two than it is to cook for one?"

  


". . . Hiyo-no."

  


"Yes, Narumi-san?"  
  
" . . . Of course it's not. I thought even you could do math that simple."

  


Her usagi punchi let loose straight at his head, but he dodged it easily and then caught her when she fell forward. He looked at the miso soup where it sat still steaming on the counter and let his hand rest in her hair.

  


"It's not cheaper to cook for two, but it is better. It's better to share meals than to eat them alone."

  


Domestic bliss. Heaven in two and a half rooms.

  


Or a reasonable facsimile at least.

  


*

  


  



End file.
